


In Sickness and in Health

by Callisto



Series: In Sickness.. [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fever, Illnesses, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:38:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Dude,” says Jared, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to raise his head off the bed. “That’s...that’s our fruit bowl. You want me to puke in our fruit bowl?”</i></p><p><i>“It’s ten below. I am not going out to the garage to get a bucket.”</i></p><p><i>“You emptied it, right?”</i></p><p><i>That’s Jared. Looking like death is never going to stop him from being an asshole.</i></p><p>Jared gets stomach flu, Jensen copes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Ancasta. This is set about two months after they started living together, and takes them to a kind of lightbulb moment. The sequel, 'For Better For Worse', takes them waaaaay further.

Jensen first realizes nothing is quite the same anymore when he hears Jared pound to the bathroom and slam the door late one night.

He’s heard tales of Jared’s enthusiasm for alcohol, of course. They’ve seen each other rough and scraped-off-the-floor raw many a time, especially in the early days. Two Texans getting to know each other? Practically a badge of honor for one to try and out-tequila the other. So yeah, he’s heard of it, but he’s never _heard_ it. As in upstairs and right above his head. As in the house and bathroom he now shares with the man.

Jensen figures it for just after midnight, and he’s surprised Jared tied one on so fast. Weekdays they tend to do little more than stagger out together at the ass crack of dawn, shoot all day, half the night, and then drool on the back seats when Cliff drives them home. Then it’s a kind of rinse and repeat until Friday. It’s Wednesday, and Jensen got out around five. Jared had a whole bunch of solo scenes to block, and went on and on about a killer new pizza he was going to pick up on his way home for them to try. A bang and a crash from upstairs, and it’s clear Jared got out early and changed his mind. The house is big sure, and with a living room each they can pretty much keep to themselves if they wish. But if one is up, the other will always drop in to say hey, goodnight, or in Jared’s case, ask for food. But five minutes ago Jared came through the front door and barely greeted the dogs, never mind Jensen, before pounding up the stairs to the bathroom.

Jensen raises his eyes off the script he was highlighting and studies the ceiling. A thump, a chink, and some muffled cursing. Then the sound of a toilet getting flushed and more muffled cursing. He snicks the top back on the highlighter pen and keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling. Which is dumb because it’s not as if it’s going to help him hear any better, and he certainly doesn’t have x-ray vision. What’s more, he doesn’t even hear what he’s listening for – the bang of the door and thump of unsteady feet as Jared leaves the bathroom – and staring up does not seem to be making it happen.

He untucks his bare feet from where he’s been sitting cross-legged on the sofa for the last hour and pads half way up the stairs before he hesitates, hand on the bannister. What exactly is he going to do? Burst into the bathroom and hold Jared’s hair back? Is this what guys who live together should do for each other? He has no idea, because Jared is actually the first guy he’s ever lived with. None of the girls he’s shared housespace with ever got physically sick on him. He has a vague memory of holding Mackenzie’s hair back for her once when she ate bad fish. But he was fifteen, she was his baby sister, and there was a lot of blonde hair to get out of the way of some pretty unpleasant projectile vomiting. There was Melissa too, his high school girlfriend, who drank cherry cider on an empty stomach because she thought Jensen had been about to end things. He had, and put it off for two more weeks because he felt so guilty about the mess she made on his behalf.

But this is _Jared_. Best friend, co-star, and roommate of two months and counting. And yeah he loves the guy and doesn’t want to see him suffer if he can do something about it. But bursting into a bathroom like a crazy person might not be within what guys are supposed to do when it comes to shit like this.

Then he hears a groan, distinct sounds of retching, and he’s up the stairs, across the hall and putting his hand flat on the bathroom door before he can do his usual and think something to death.

“Jared?”

The sound of spitting reaches his ears. Then flushing. “Yeah?” comes a croaked reply. Still no sounds of movement from within, so Jensen moves his hand down to the door handle.

“You okay?” Jensen rolls his eyes at himself. Dumb fucking question.

More spitting and another noise that might be an attempt at a wry chuckle, but which quickly becomes a groan.

“Not really.”

Jensen waits a moment longer. The dogs are milling around, sniffing at the bottom of the door. Jensen tries the handle, which opens. “I’m coming in, Jay.” He keeps the dogs back with a stern word and goes in.

The sight that greets him is quite something. It’s not a small bathroom and Jared is not a small guy, but somehow he’s managed to concertina himself in and over the toilet like some kind of spastic spider, legs crooked at sharp angles. A precariously balanced right elbow on the toilet seat seems to be doing its best to keep Jared’s head above the bowl. His shirt is rucked up and already a disaster, his watch is on the floor, and his hair is plastered every which way to skin gleaming a decidedly whiter shade of pale.

“Holy shit, Jared.”

“Hey, Jensen.” It’s barely a croak and Jared’s eyes are so dark as they try and focus on him that he looks like someone hit him.

“Dude, what the hell did you—

Jared lurching forward to heave into the toilet bowl cuts him off. Jensen bites his bottom lip, hand hovering. He’s still unsure what to do but he wants to do _something_ now that he’s here for Chrissake. He bends down a little and settles for what he hopes is a soothing hand on Jared’s back, rubbing back and forth between his shoulderblades, and he tries not to wince at the cold sweat and tremors he can feel under his fingers.

Jared shoots forward and away from Jensen’s touch for yet another retch. This one sounds dry and raw and God, Jensen wants it to _stop_...

He glances around and sees a blue washcloth to his right. He straightens and runs some warm water through it.

“Here,” he says, crouching back down. “Jared?”

“Yeah?” Muffled, because Jared’s head is still hanging down. And he’s spitting again.

“C’mon, get your head up a minute. Take this.”

Jensen presses the cloth into the hand curled limply against Jared’s knee. He’s relieved when Jared groans and finally sits up and back. Jared’s hand shakes but he wipes his face, and then slides the cloth round to rest on the back of his neck. He sits back on his haunches a little more and squints at Jensen. “Well, this is fun,” he rasps.

“Dude. What happened? What the fuck were you drinking?”

“Nothing! I swear. I just...oh _fuck_...”

A gulp, a desperate hitch, and Jensen braces himself, winces away as Jared’s head and chest convulse forward again. But Jared gets it under control, shivers, and then sits back. His head thunks back against the tiled wall and he closes his eyes and slumps to sit. “Sorry, thought I was gonna... you know.”

“Jared.” It comes out soft, because Jared just looks _wrecked_. Jensen puts his hand out to rest on a denim clad knee. “Hey,” he says, still soft. “What’s going on?”

A bleary eye opens. “I don’t know, man. Honestly. I got my shit done. Well, most of it. I just got so fucking tired, Jensen. I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. And then my stomach starts cramping up like I drank two gallons of milk or something. I’m standing there, swaying everywhichway on my marks and Bob, fucking saint that he is, tells Cliff to move my ass to the car. Or the car to my ass, maybe. Anyway, I barely made it up the fucking driveway.”

“I heard.”

“Yeah, was gonna stick my head in, but...” Jared flaps a hand vaguely at his surroundings, “...kinda had to stick my head in something else first.”

“You ain’t kidding.” Jensen sighs and takes his right hand off Jared’s knee to scrub it down his face. “You done?” It comes out a little harsh. “I mean, you think you can get up now, get into bed?”

“God, yes please.”

Jensen helps him get to his feet. He flushes the toilet and closes the lid. Then he stands close while Jared clings to the sink for a shaky moment, before brushing his teeth, rinsing out his mouth, and drinking a tall glass of water.

“Better?”

Jared wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, sets the empty glass down and turns to nod. He looks so tired and sweat-drenched, Jensen has to fight the urge to step in and just hug the shit out of him, because seriously, puppies fished out of rivers do not look this pathetic.

Instead he takes Jared’s elbow and waits while Jared gulps in a few steadying breaths. “Okay?”

“Okay,” nods Jared, a little stronger this time. “Just don’t let go. ‘M not sure my knees are gonna lock for long.”

“Now he tells me.”

Jared does sway alarmingly a couple of times, but Jensen tightens his grip and gets them across the hall, around the dogs, and into Jared’s room. He closes the door to keep the dogs out and eases Jared down to sit on the side of the bed he knows Jared prefers. He finds the switch for the bedside lamp and then stands, uncertain again. He needs to sleep himself if he has any chance of being less than zombie-like for tomorrow’s shooting schedule, but he has to make sure Jared is set for what’s left of the night before he goes back to his own room downstairs. He pats Jared’s right shoulder as an idea comes to him.

“I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

He’s not entirely convinced by Jared’s slow-blinking nod, but when he gets back a few minutes later, he’s gratified to see that Jared has managed to unbutton his shirt, drag a t-shirt on, shuck down to boxers, and is slowly getting under the covers. Jared turns on to his right side, toward the lamplight and Jensen. He finds a weak smile from somewhere.

Jensen sits down next to him at hip level.“You still with me?” he asks, and a shiver is his answer as Jared burrows into his pillows and sniffs loudly.

“No.” Jared sounds beyond miserable.

“Man, what the hell d’you eat today?”

Jared lifts his face from the pillow to look at Jensen again. He yawns massively. “God, I don’t know. Chicken?”

“Well, whatever.” Jensen doubts it was the chicken since he had it, too. Jared is undoubtedly too sick to remember the tacos, burritos and tuna melts he’s probably consumed since Jensen last saw him. “Listen. I’ve shut the dogs in the kitchen for tonight. There’s a glass of water right here, next to your phone, okay? And I’m leaving this on the floor by your bed, just in case.” Jensen holds up a bowl and waits for Jared to see it before he puts it on the floor.

“Dude,” says Jared, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to raise his head off the bed. “That’s...that’s our fruit bowl. You want me to puke in our fruit bowl?”

“It’s ten below. I am not going out to the garage to get a bucket.”

“You emptied it, right?”

That’s Jared. Looking like death is never going to stop him from being an asshole.

Jensen shakes his head, keeps his voice quiet. “Nah, left the apples in. Thought you could spice them up some.”

“I’mma puke on _you_ for that, Jensen.” But it’s barely a whisper, and sure enough, Jared’s breathing starts to deepen and even out almost immediately. When he’s under, Jensen gives in to an itch and reaches out to smooth Jared’s matted hair off his forehead. The skin there is cool and clammy under his fingers, so he hitches the covers a little higher. Then he gets to his feet, clicks off the lamp, and leaves the door open when he goes.

Why he stands at the doorjamb in the dark, listening to Jared breathe for a good two minutes more, is anyone’s guess.

 

In the morning, Jared seems to be under the misapprehension he’s getting up and going to work.

“Dude,” he says – croaks – all wounded ego and bruised eyes. “You’re going in without me?”

Jensen pats his pockets, tries to remember what he’s patting them for, and looks at Jared trying to sit up. Jensen is already twenty minutes late, but there was bad news to break, dogs to walk, and Jared to check up on. Jared swears he only threw up once after Jensen left him, and not in the goddamn fruit bowl, thank you very much. His color is that of bleached parchment, though, and there’s a tremor in his hands. And Jensen figures it’s a measure of how bad Jared must be feeling that he has yet to comment on the dry toast, juice and Tylenol Jensen put by the lamp.

Tylenol. Right.

Jensen remembers what he was patting his pockets for.

“Stop talking and put this under your tongue for a minute.”

It’s an old-fashioned thermometer, and Jensen knows he should have thought to do this last night.

“’rs ah one w’fuh ‘uh eer?”

“No idea.” Jensen remembers seeing a fancy one you stuck in your ear once upon a time. But it was probably Sandy’s, so Jensen is not about to bring that up.

He sits on the bed and watches Jared who watches him. The idiot is trying to smile around the thermometer and he’s going to end up drooling down his chin any second.

Then Jensen realizes he’s passing up the golden opportunity right in front of him of a Jared who can’t talk.

“Listen up. I don’t really care what this says, you’re here for the day. I called Bob already, and to be honest the guy didn’t even sound surprised. Dude, he says you were _green_ yesterday.”

“ushnot.”

“Shut up. I’m going to get Clare to come by...” Clare is their resident dog-walker, keeper of extra keys, occasional cook and tidy-upper, and just general all-purpose angel. He is also going to talk to the set doctor and get him to swing by, but there’s no need to share that particular nugget with Jared, who is already rolling his eyes at the news of Clare. “... and I’ll let the dogs up so you can all sleep and drool and be miserable together.”

Jared makes a face so Jensen takes the thermometer out and squints, turning it this way and that. “Wow. A hundred and one. That’s it. Juice, Tylenol, toast. Toast first, then the pills with the juice. I gotta go, Jared.”

“Jensen...”

It’s a whine, and Jensen really doesn’t have time for a whine. He turns at the door.

“What?” He takes a deep breath and tries to keep a lid on the _latelatelate_ litany running through his head. He softens his tone. “You need anything before I leave?”

Jared just looks at him, runs a hand through his hair, and then thumps back on the three pillows Jensen stacked up behind him.

“Man, this fucking sucks, Jensen.”

“I know, I know. Just sleep. And keep your phone near you.”

“Keep in touch. Don’t... don’t forget.”

As if Jensen is departing for Timbuktu. It begs a sarcastic put-down, but Jared is too slow-blinking and sincere, and looking too damn awful for Jensen to go there.

So he smiles, as wide and warm as he can. “Sure thing. I’ll keep you in the loop, Jay.”

Jared nods, and Jensen leaves him picking up the dry toast with a deep, unhappy sounding sigh.

 

The first break Jensen gets, he checks his phone, but there’s nothing from Jared. He figures he’s sleeping and doesn’t text him. Second break, and there’s a message waiting for him.

 _fucker u sent doc_

Jensen already knows that the doctor thinks it’s stomach flu. Three of the crew have had it in the last couple of weeks. ‘Man, he’s gonna hate that,’ one of them told Jensen. ‘I puked for a week.’ The way Jensen figures, it’s better and worse than food poisoning. At the end of the day, no matter how bad and how long, it’s still flu, which the world and his grandmother gets – especially in winter in a closed, tightknit set like theirs. A nasty cold went through every single one of them during that first season, as they foolishly walked around in tennis shoes on snow before learning what winter in Canada actually meant.

 _u were green_ , he sends back.

 _am pink now_

Jensen smiles and doesn’t send a reply because really, what is he supposed to text to that?

 

He sends a _how r u_ at around two o’clock, but his phone doesn’t beep with an answer until gone five.

 _bored. call me_

He’s got some time while they set up the lighting for the next shot, so he does.

“Hey,” comes Jared’s voice on the first ring. “Loop, man. Where’s the loop?” His voice sounds rough and cracks a little.

“God, you sound like crap.”

A cough. “Feel it. Can’t believe I got fucking stomach flu.”

“How the mighty fall. And so young, too.”

“I am so breathing all over you soon as you get here. What’s happening? What did they do with my stuff for today?”

Rewrote it frantically all morning, but Jared doesn’t need to know that. “Bob didn’t call you?”

“He did. But I think I was out of my head at the time.” Another cough. “You tell me.”

“What can I say? They’re writing Sam out as we speak, dude. Sending him back to Stanford to study World Peace with some chick called Brenda. Dean’s going to cry like a little bitch for most of the episode, and I’ll get an Emmy for sure. But don’t worry, I’ll thank you and your stomach in my speech.”

“Harsh, man. Really harsh.”

“Nah, don’t sweat it, Jay. Bob is making it a little more Dean-centred, is all. They’ve added a couple more scenes with just the family, and Dean’s going to rescue the boy by himself. That’s about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Seriously, it’s like we don’t need you at all.”

“Oh, fuck you, Ackles.”

The production assistant catches his eyes and gestures for him to get up and walk over. “Jared, they’re calling me, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight. Clare is there, right?”

“Making soup. Jensen? Don’t be late.”

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it. I hate being sick like this without you here.”

That pulls Jensen up mid-stride, and for the life of him he can’t think of a clever comeback.

“Jensen?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.” He swallows, presses the phone a little closer to his ear. “Just rest up. I’ll be back soon.”

“’Kay. I’m tired, Jen. Think I’ll...” a yawn “...nap till you get here, man.” Jared sounds like he’s suddenly inches from sleep, so Jensen hangs up, looks fondly at his phone, and then up to realize from the expression on Bob’s face that he’s got about five seconds to get back into Dean’s headspace.

 

It’s a little after eight when Jensen walks in the door. Clare, the resident angel, is still there, watching a quiet TV. She’s a tiny gray-haired dynamo in her early sixties who’s outlived three husbands and breast cancer, and who more or less adopted Jared when they were neighbors back in his Gilmore days. As Jared likes to say, he moved house, changed roommates and neighborhoods, but he’ll never change Clares.

Jensen shrugs off his jacket, shushes the dogs, and stoops to kiss her cheek as she gets up to meet him at the door.

“Heya, Clare. How you doing?”

“Just fine, dear. How are you?”

“Good. How’s our boy?” He throws his keys in the bowl and follows her into the kitchen, which is spotless and smells fabulous.

“Sleeping. His fever’s been high, a hundred and three at one point. He was sick a couple of times before I got here, but he’s kept the soup down for a while now, so that’s good.” She pats his arm. “Just keep him cool and rested, and sipping fluids, and he’ll be fine. It’s one of those horrid things a person simply has to wait out.”

Jensen nods, grateful to her as always. She’s on the books as Jared’s PA, and if she weren’t, she’d be on as Jensen’s.

“I’ll be by tomorrow, dear.” She moves to pick her jacket up off the chair, and Jensen takes it from her and holds it out for her to put on. “Now, I’ve walked the dogs, they just need a once around the garden. When the soup is cool, put it in the fridge, and there’s some chicken there for you.”

Jensen smiles, leans forward, and kisses her on the cheek again. “Thank you. So much.” The last thing he felt like doing was ordering takeout.

“Absolutely, Jensen. Six and Seven remember?”

It’s a standing joke between them. She has five grandchildren.

“I’m Six and he’s Seven, right?”

She smiles, says goodbye to the dogs, and leaves.

 

The first thing Jensen does is eat. And he does it in the peace and quiet of the kitchen for once, not taking it through to the TV room. He takes a bowl of the soup Clare made for Jared because there’s a lot of it, it’s hot, and it’s like a meal in and of itself with the bread rolls she’s left out. Then he checks on the dogs – Harley is making the most of no one on the sofa and is out for the count across all three cushions. Sadie is missing, no doubt curled up next to Jared. He thumbs the lights off and heads upstairs.

Jared’s door is open, soft light spilling out from the bedside lamp. The far one is lit this time, so even though Jared is asleep on the side near the door, he’s facing away and Jensen can’t see him all that clearly. A head raises up past the line of Jared and sure enough, there’s Sadie. She starts to thump her tail onto the pillow near Jared’s face when she realizes it’s Jensen standing at the door.

Jensen tries some frantic hand signals, but Sadie seems to take that as her cue to squirm around and get even happier.

“Jensen?” Jared starts to slowly turn over towards the open door.

“Sorry. Was trying not to wake you.” He goes in, waylaid by a wriggling Sadie as she jumps off the bed and heads towards him. “Yeah, yeah. Love you, too. Dumb dog.”

“She’s been sacked out with me most of the day.” His voice is scratchy and rough.

“She finally got an invalid to lie around with all day, huh?”

“Who you calling an invalid?”

Jensen sits down on the bed next to Jared, who’s smiling at him. Eyes still too dark, skin way too sallow, but damn it’s good to see him.

“Hey,” he says, smiling back.

“Hey yourself.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Eh. Fucking tired more than anything.”

“How many times you thrown up today? Wow, you’re hot.” Jensen’s hand is on Jared’s forehead.

“Aw, honey. You say the sweetest things.”

“Dick,” says Jensen, shaking his head. “How many times, Jared?”

An eye-watering yawn. “Three,” he manages.

“Uh-huh. And what’s all this?” He’s looking at the rather full bedside table. There’s a glass of water, the Tylenol he left from this morning, an empty soup bowl, another bowl full of cloudy looking water, a washcloth, Jared’s iPod and phone, and a small bottle of something Jensen picks up because he’s never seen it before.

“Something lemony Clare put in the water for that.” Jared gestures at the washcloth. “You know, for my poor fevered brow.”

“Yeah?”

Jared shrugs, yawns again. “Smells nice,” is all he says, and his eyelids are looking heavy again. The guy clearly has zero energy right now.

“Let’s give it a go then, shall we?”

By the time Jensen gets back with some new cold water and a rinsed out washcloth, Sadie is back on the bed and Jared’s eyes are closed. He’s on his back, breathing deeply. Jensen realizes he should have taken his temperature, but he doesn’t need a reading to know that Jared has probably passed out from the heat of fever rather than fallen asleep naturally.

He adds some drops of Clare’s herbal concoction to the water, and sets to work. He feels weird and self-conscious for the first minute or so, like Jared is going to wake up and stare at him in disbelief. But then he actually finds it soothing. He folds the damp washcloth in half and lays it on Jared’s forehead for a good ten seconds or so. Then he smoothes it slowly over Jared’s neck, both his wrists, his hands, and occasionally his forearms. When he’s done, he wrings it out and starts again. There’s no chatter, no TV, no music, no lights. Just him and a sleeping Jared.

And Sadie.

Also sleeping.

Jensen looks over at her when she opens an eye and flicks a lazy ear at him.“You wanna washcloth, girl?” He whispers. “You got a fever needs—

“Sandy?”

Jensen stills, heart skipping as his attention snaps back to Jared. He’s just draped the cloth over Jared’s right wrist.

“Sandy?”

Jensen knows from how fast Jared’s skin is sucking the cool water out of the washcloth that this is fever talk. But Jared’s right hand is twitching, clearly searching and shit, what does he do? What the hell does he do?

He takes it, is what he does. He holds those hot fingers in his own and slides his palm up to meet the dry heat of Jared’s.

“Dude, no. It’s me, Jensen.” He swears that for a second or two, Jared tightens his grip when he hears that. Just before his eyes flicker open.

“Jensen,” he says on a sleepy exhale. A smile first, then a dint between his eyes. Jared licks his lips, hand still holding Jensen’s. “I thought...”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s you.” Another warm, sleep-slow smile. “’M glad it’s you.” And Jensen doesn’t imagine the squeeze this time, knows it’s real and for him.

He can’t speak. He can only nod and hold on, his heart ridiculously full.

Goddamn Texans and their dimples and their dogs and their offers of living together.

 

The next day, Friday, is pretty much a repeat of the one before. Jared stays in bed, sweats, sleeps, and occasionally pukes. Clare comes by and makes a mean green bean casserole and yet more soup. And Jensen stays on set until midnight so he can have the weekend free and clear.

“’M wasting away, Jensen.” Jared tells him mournfully at one in the morning. “Haven’t worked out or eaten a proper meal in... fuck, three days. Three days!”

“I know,” says Jensen, wringing out the washcloth. Jared’s fever is creeping up again. “Your weights miss you, man. I can hear them crying from here. It’s pitiful.”

He places the washcloth on Jared’s forehead, sits quietly as Jared groans and closes his eyes.

“Jensen?” His eyes are still closed and his voice is slow and scratchy again.

“Yeah?”

“I’m getting up tomorrow. Want breakfast. And coffee. You can follow me around with... y’know... the fruit bowl.”

“Sure thing, Jay.” Jensen moves the cloth to his neck, pats it. “That would make for about the most awesome Saturday ever.”

No answer. Jared is asleep again.

 

Jared does actually get his wish and make it down the stairs on Saturday. He arrives in dark blue sweats and a matching T-shirt in Jensen’s living room shortly after midday. He’s wrapped in a blanket with dogs in tow and the most stunning bedhead ever.

“Hey, look at you, alive and in the flesh.” Jensen checked on him when he woke up just after nine, but Jared was sleeping peacefully with no fever, so he left him to it. And so far, there’s been no pounding overhead to send him back upstairs.

Jared makes his way slowly around the sofa and sits down gingerly on Jensen’s right.

“’Ch’doin’?” he asks, voice still half-asleep.

Jensen’s laptop is open and on the coffee table, and the TV is quietly relating last night’s sports news.

“Just catching up.” Jensen leans sideways to peer at him. “You okay? Should I get the fruit bowl?”

Jared still looks as if he’s gone a couple of rounds in a bar brawl, and his skin is way too pale. But he’s up and not puking – for now – so Jensen is going to call it a win.

Jared feebly backhands him and yawns. “Coffee. Gimme coffee.”

“Why thank you, Jensen, for taking such good care of me, for holding my hair back and mopping my fevered brow. Where would I be without you?”

He says it all as he gets to his feet and makes to step over Jared’s. But before he can get past, Jared grabs his right wrist.

“Thank you, Jensen, for taking such good care of me, for holding my hair back and mopping my fevered brow. And just so you know? I would be lost without you.”

If it’s meant to be funny, it comes out way too serious. Especially when Jared rubs his thumb across Jensen’s wrist while he says it all.

Jensen swallows and ducks his head. “No problem, Jay. Now let me go get some coffee before you fall asleep again.”

It’s a caffeine-free blend from one of their favorite barristas. Jensen ordered it yesterday because the doctor had been very clear about lots of bland food and no caffeine. Not that he tells Jared any of that. Let the idiot think he’s getting his caffeine fix again.

Jared follows it with a platter of toast and the thinnest scrapings of butter Jensen can get away with. And he gives Jared a small bowl of pureed vegetable soup to dunk it in.

“Not bad, Jay. We’ll have you eating like a real boy in no time.”

“Shut up. And put Halo in. I’m kicking your ass, Ackles.”

He doesn’t. Though he does last longer than Jensen thought he would. He starts yawning and leaning heavily into Jensen’s right side about twenty minutes in, and by the time Jared’s guy has dropped his weapon for the third time, Jensen reaches over to switch the whole thing off.

“Hey,” mumbles Jared into his shoulder. “Was playin’.”

“Yeah, sure you were. Ripping me a new one as always, Soldier.” Jared’s forehead feels warm where it’s pressed against his t-shirted arm. “Jay, why don’t you—

And then whatever Jensen was about to suggest becomes moot as Jared pushes and persuades until he’s stretched himself out across the sofa, his feet at one end and his head and shoulders pinning Jensen where he sits.

Jensen groans. “Come on, man. Don’t. Jay, you’re heavy. Let’s get you upstairs, yeah?” But Jared has already turned sideways to face the TV and settled his hand under his cheek. “’M good here,” he slurs. “Let me sleep, Jensen. Just nappin’, promise.”

Jensen pushes some of Jared’s hair aside and leans over to see his face. “Fine. But you puke on me and you are dead, Padalecki.”

His answer is a snore and Jensen is only thankful the remote is within reach.

 

Jared doesn’t puke on him. In fact, Jensen has an insanely domestic hour or two with his lap full of a toppled Padalecki and a tivo’d Rangers game he never got to see all the way through. Snacks and a beer would be awesome, but he really can’t move without waking Jared.

Which is probably a lie. He could, he just doesn’t want to. It’s the oddest thing and something he doesn’t often choose to think about, but Jared is bringing out a maternal side in him Jensen didn’t even know he had. If it carries on, pretty soon he expects to be crying at Oprah and clucking at Jared when he goes out in the snow without his coat on.

Case in point. It’s Saturday afternoon, he’s not working, he’s not in LA, and he’s not out and about setting up parties and bar crawls. Instead, he’s in a pair of non descript gray sweats, watching an old baseball game, and stroking Jared Padalecki’s hair as the man snores in his lap.

Seriously, what the hell happened to him? Because right now, he doesn’t think he could feel more content if he tried.

That contentment lasts until the doorbell rings with a Fed-Ex delivery of the next script. Sadie and Harley lose it, and Jared falls off his lap so fast he bangs his chin on the coffee table.

He doesn’t throw up, though, so Jensen feels absolutely no guilt about laughing his ass off.

 

In fact, Jared doesn’t throw up all day. He lasts right up until just after 9 o’clock that evening. And by this time, Jensen has it down to a fine art.

“C’mon, Jared. Get your head up for me.” Jared is wrapped around the toilet bowl again, and Jensen is on the floor with him, rubbing his right hand in palm-flat circles over his back.

“Here. Gargle this.” Jensen has got the glass of water next to him. “Just spit it into the bowl.”

Jared does, then slowly raises his head as his hand reaches up to flush and close the lid.

“I am so fucking sick of this, Jensen.” His voice is cracking again, but judging from his eyes, it’s with end-of-his-tether tears more than anything.

“Hey, hey.” Jensen scoots closer and hesitates for about two seconds before gathering him up. He gets both hands over Jared’s shoulders and starts smoothing the shivers out. “Only once today, Jared. Not bad at all.”

Jared sniffs, turns his face away so his cheek rests on Jensen’s left shoulder. He belches, hiccups, then laughs a little.

“Better out than in, dude,” says Jensen, still patting and rubbing. The temors and twitches are easing up. Jared’s skin is starting to feel hot again, though, even through his sweats.

“You wanna get up?” Jensen asks him quietly. Jared shakes his head on his shoulder, so they stay where they are, Jensen’s hands still drawing slow circles. A few minutes pass and Jensen’s back is starting to crick at the angle. He opens his mouth to say something about moving, when Jared turns his head and presses his face hard into Jensen’s neck, stilling Jensen’s hands.

“Jared?” His turn to croak, it seems.

Jared doesn’t say anything at first, just slowly rubs his forehead from Jensen’s jawline down his neck to his shoulder, and then back again. “God, so cool, Jensen. So cool.”

Jensen gets it, he does. It’s spaced-out comfort, is what it is, and the twinge he feels is not disappointment. It’s just not.

“C’mon, Jared, let’s get you—

“Stay.” Clear and strong. Lucid. A single sound stretched out just so. Jared’s arms slide around him and he says it again, warm and close into Jensen’s ear. “Stay.”

“Jared...” He closes his eyes as a shiver races through him. Jared, goddamn him, takes that as his cue to start freakin’ _rocking_ them, backwards and forwards, right there on the bathroom floor.

“Dude...” He’s supposed to be getting them upright, instead he’s helpless to do anything but sit there and hold on. Jared’s hands are busy smoothing their own slow path down Jensen’s back.

“Hey... ’s okay. Just stay. Stay with me, Jen.”

Jensen shakes his head. Jared is so out of it, the poor bastard, he has to be. He presses his lips into a sour lock of sweat-damp hair somewhere near Jared’s temple because really, two can play at this game.

“Sure thing, Jared. You, me, and the bathroom floor. Nowhere else I’d rather be, man.”

Only it doesn’t come out nearly as sarcastically as he planned. And when Jared simply tightens his arms around Jensen, all Jensen can do is press his cheek where his lips were and hug the idiot even closer.

“Me neither,” comes the warm, breathy answer.

And Jensen sincerely does not know whether to laugh or cry.

 

******


End file.
